


Death and Anton

by elspethpoppy



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7258162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elspethpoppy/pseuds/elspethpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a tribute to the late Anton Yelchin. May you find peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death and Anton

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a cathartic way of dealing with Antons death. I'm still crying now. And I know that when I go I want Terry Pratchett's Death to help me on my way. And maybe Mrs Cake too. Apologies for any mistakes, its un-beta'd.

He sits.  
On top of his car, he sits.  
He can’t feel anything, just the ghost of pain that may have once been there. He ponders if this is a dream, or an existential crisis. But deep down he knows.  
He’s dead.  
The thought comes unbidden but it makes sense. That is his body he’s looking at, crushed between his car and mailbox. He didn’t recognise it at first. It looked different like this, in real life. He’d only ever seen it in photos and reflections before. He stood and walked around it, curious as to what the back of his head looked like.  
Huh. Like that. Well. Now he knew.   
There was a thread that sprang from his navel and was attached to his body at the other end. It was mildly itchy, and when he tugged at it it pulled taught but the twanging sound reverberated between the ghost of his ears and made him dizzy.  
He supposed he should feel angry. Or sad. Or something. But he didn’t. If anything he felt content.   
THAT WILL BE THE LACK OF GLANDS.  
He turned round and looked up to see a seven foot skeleton looming over him  
“What?”   
NO GLANDS. YOU NEED GLANDS FOR EMOTION.   
“Oh.” Anton said.  
Death took his scythe in hand and cut the tiny, golden thread that linked Antons sprit to his earthly remains.  
It went ‘snick’ and all of a sudden the itch was gone.  
MY APOLOGIES FOR THE LATENESS. I WASN’T EXPECTING YOU SO SOON. Death looked down, a bashful look glancing over his frozen features. It was a strange juxtaposition to his voice, which sounded like coffin lids slamming shut.  
“How can you be late to a death?” Anton asked, “Surely you know when they’re all happening?”  
YES. BUT I DO NOT NEED TO ACTUALLY BE THERE FOR ALL OF THEM. JUST ENOUGH TO THINGS TICKING ALONG.   
“Really?” Anton looked around. The sky was dark. No one had noticed what had happened yet. But then, he lived in a quiet neighbourhood.  
YES. I ONLY HAVE TO SHOW UP FOR KINGS AND OTHER SUCH PEOPLE OF INFLUENCE.  
“So why choose me? Im none of those things.”  
I WOULD DISAGREE. BUT I ALSO DO FLASHY DEATHS. OR UNEXPECTED. I ALWAYS DO THOSE IN THE 27 CLUB.  
“Huh. Never thought I’d end up in the 27 club.”  
Anton paused for a minute, contemplating.   
“Will my mom be okay?” He asked as he looked up at death.  
SHE HAS LOST HER ONLY CHILD.  
“Guessing that’s a no then.”  
Death remained silent for a while before walking forward, through Antons car.  
“How do you do that? Walk through things?” he asked, curious. It was a little hard to focus on things without any proper emotion.  
I AM REAL.  
“So’s the car.” Anton said. He wasn’t sure he appreciated the talking in riddles.  
NOT AS REAL AS I AM.  
Anton looked again at his body. “It was real enough for me.”  
Death followed his gaze. INDEED. BUT I AM ETERNAL. WHEREAS YOUR VEHICLE WILL ONLY LAST A FEW DECADES.  
Anton shrugged. This day was pretty weird, so he decided to go with it.  
“What do I do now?” he asked.  
Death held out a long, bony, white hand.  
YOU LEAVE THIS RELM.  
“Can’t I say goodbye?”  
NO.  
“But that’s not fair.”  
THERE IS NO JUSTICE. ONLY ME.  
“What about my mom? Can’t I warn her at least?”  
HOW DO YOU THINK SHE WILL REACT TO THE GHOST OF HER SON?  
Anton looked down again, accepting that as a bad idea.   
He wasn’t sad, he didn’t have the glands for it. But he was certainly… glum.  
Death sighed. He was getting soft. He pulled a small card out of his robes and handed it to Anton.  
IF YOU WISH TO SPEAK WITH YOUR FAMILY AGAIN, CONTACT THIS WOMAN. He tapped the card for emphasis.  
“Mrs Cake?”  
SHE IS A HIGHLY FEARED VERY SMALL MEDIUM.  
“But she lives in London.”  
SHE WILL FIND A WAY TO GET TO YOUR FAMILY IF YOU ASK HER. BUT YOU CANNOT STAY HERE. IT IS NO LIFE AS A GHOST.   
“Whose One-Man-Bucket?” he asked, reading off the card.  
HER SPIRIT GUIDE. HE'S THE ONE YOU NEED TO CONTACT.  
Anton took the card and pocketed it. “Thank you.”  
MY PLEASURE.  
Death holds out his hand again and Anton takes it, surprised that its not cold.  
When he looks up all he sees is desert, and people crossing it. There are thousands of them. No shadows fall. There is no sun to cast any.  
HEAD TOWARDS THE MOUNTAINS. Death said, pointing in the direction all the people are headed.  
Anton squinted. They seemed so far away.  
“What’s beyond them?”  
THAT, I CANNOT SAY.  
“How long will it take for me to get there?” he asked, looking up at the skeleton.  
FOR YOU? NOT LONG AT ALL. BUT ALL MUST WALK ALONE.  
Anton nodded, and the people around him faded. The sand was greyish-black, and it fountained upwards when it was disturbed even slightly. He began walking, holding tight to the card in his pocket, determined that he would find this One-Man-Bucket and say goodbye properly. He wasn’t sure how. But he would do it.  
Death watched him go and sighed. Another gone so young.  
But. That was the way of things.

There was no justice, only him.


End file.
